Thoughts
by Kittykraze
Summary: A compilation of thoughts Team One might have had when first meeting Sam in the episode Scorpio and his thoughts about his new team. This started out as a one-shot but it has developed into something a little bigger. (I have made some revisions, I AM planning on continuing the story)
1. Chapter 1

Thoughts

 _ **A/N:**_ _Just a one-shot about what the thoughts of Team One might have been at the end of Scorpio especially after meeting Sam. Enjoy! Please review!_

* * *

 **Jules**

"I'm Sam. Sam Braddock." The male voice states as I'm packing up my gear. The moron continues. "You don't see lady snipers too often, that's kinda sexy." Ugh, doesn't this guy understand that I just want to go back to the barn so I can go home? Doesn't he realize that this call has frayed our nerves? "…I carry a vintage Colt myself." He blathers on. As I turn around he reaches into his jacket.

My cop senses kick into overdrive. Gun drawn. Yelling. My team quickly surrounds the muscular man holding a photograph in his hands. His face shows no fear but his hands are slightly held in the air.

"My dad and I. Pearl grips." He states with a smirk, pointing to the photo.

Commander Holleran strides up. "Lower your weapons. _Lower_ your weapons." He commands, walking up to this blonde guy. "Braddock, I told you to meet me at the station."

This Braddock moron gives his lame excuse and swaggers off with the Commander. "Nice post-incident reflexes guys." He smirks cockily.

 **Team 1**

' _Who the hell does he think he is?'_

* * *

The Retirement Party

 **Jules**

Great, _he's_ here again.

"Alright, let's try this again. Team One, Sam Braddock. Sam, this is your new team." Holleran states.

Everyone politely says 'hello'.

"Isn't the team full?" I ask, a snarky tone evident in my voice.

The Commander reveals Rolie's promotion. I'm happy for him, he deserves it, but to have this cocky guy on the team? Ugh, great. Sam sits next to me of course and I roll my eyes.

Holleran states that Sam is ex-JTF2. Fabulous, now we've got to train a Special Forces Army brat.

 **Sam**

The animated guy called Spike, asks, ""So Sam, how many Al-Qaida guys you take out?"

I just about vomit and I know I pale. God, how insensitive could he be? Asking me how many people I _killed_? He acts like it's some kind of trophy.

"What d'ya mean? Like out to dinner?" I joke, my 'happy' mask quickly slides into place.

The sniper chick from earlier keeps blowing me off. It's pretty hot. She won't tell me what Jules is short for, teasing me. I just sit back sipping my beer and watching my new 'team'. God, that word makes me sick. Team. I can't trust anyone anymore. Everyone has betrayed me.

My stomach flips with worry. I'm starting to have an anxiety attack and I need to get out of here to calm myself down. I quietly excuse myself from the table, laying down a few bills to pay for my beer. My sergeant follows me out, a little ways behind me. I can tell he wants to talk to me so I stop outside the restaurant. My body immediately stiffens until I stand at attention: shoulders stiff, back tense, posture straight, chin pointed straight ahead, eyes cold and blank, jaw clenched, hands by my side; everything falls into place simultaneously.

"Sam -" He starts.

"Yes sir." I bark in return.

"At ease, Sam." He states, my body instantly collapsing into a more casual position. "You don't have to stand at attention, Sam. This isn't the Army." He reminds, a warm smile plays on his lips.

I sigh softly and drop my head in shame. "My apologies, sir. Force of habit." I state quietly.

"Welcome to the team, Sam. We'll be meeting at headquarters tomorrow morning at six. Get some sleep."

I nod crisply and wait until he returns inside before heading for my car. I let myself into my new apartment and unpack the essentials from my one suitcase. I sit on my bed flipping through some of my pictures. The few pictures I have of my best friend Matt tears a whole straight through my heart. He shouldn't have died. He's shouldn't have been there. I pulled the trigger. I killed him. I killed my best friend.

I lay my head in my heads, taking deep breaths to settle my anxiety. I always get real anxious before a new tour or mission. I place the pictures in the draw of the small nightstand.

A loud sigh escapes me as I crawl in bed. What have I gotten myself into?

* * *

 _ **A/N:** __I told you guys it was going to be short!_ _Thanks for reading! Please share your thoughts and comments!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 _ **A/N:**_ _I planned this story to only be a one-shot but the numbers show the popular demand so…here is chapter 2. I hope you like it! Please review!_

 **Sam**

I walk into the SRU headquarters wearing dark blue jeans and a tight black t-shirt. An attractive lady sits at the front desk and just as I am about to ask where I am supposed to report, someone calls my name.

"Braddock!" A harsh voice commands. I spin on my heels towards the voice, instantly flexing to stand at attention. "You're late." The bald man growls.

"It's 0600, sir. That is the time Sergeant Parker said I was to report." I state, growing confused.

"5:20. Always forty minutes early." He shakes his head. "Get in the briefing room."

I comply and sit in an empty chair near the corner of the room. My stomach flips as all eyes rest on me. Geez, I wish I hadn't thrown up this morning. I hate it when my anxiety gets the best of me.

"Alright team, we will be running drills today to break in the young Mr. Sam Braddock to the SRU world." Sergeant Parker states. He continues about a few things we are going to do today before he turns to me. "Sam, would you like to tell us a little bit about yourself?"

Gulp. Hands shake. Panic. NO! Don't panic. Everything's fine. Breathe.

I stand in a formal position, speaking directly to the sergeant.

"What would you like to know?" I ask.

"Just a little blip about your previous life, jobs, family, anything you'd like."

"I am an ex-JTF2 Special Operations Master Corporal specializing as a long-distance marksman. I served two tours in Afghanistan, first learned how to shoot a rifle when I was six and I traveled a lot with my father when I was younger." I state somberly. No emotion plays on my face.

"Oh, very interesting Sam. So what made you want to leave the military and join the SRU?" Sergeant Parker asks.

God, I hate this question and it's quite obvious that I'm not going to be able to get away with my usual response of 'I wanted to retire, start a family' or something of that effect.

"I wanted to come home, sir, and try to help people.' I state quietly, my gaze dropped. I'm defenseless against any attacks and uncomfortably vulnerable. The itching look on their faces tells me they want to know more. I sigh softly and close my eyes, opening them painfully slow again. "I lost my best friend overseas and I wish more than anything he was still here to keep me together; but he's not and I have no clue what I'm doing with my life. Everyone says I'm wasting my time doing this but, I – I don't know what else to do and I, I want to live. I want people that want me to live. I don't want to be just a number! I don't want to be another statistic of how many soldiers come back home and take their lives because they can't handle it! I want someone to care just a little bit if I live or die. I want someone to be able to say something at my funeral other than 'he was a good soldier'. I just want one person to be _proud_ of me!" I state, tears streaming down my face.

This is it. I just lost my job. Walk out now before you hurt them down the line. I try but my feet are glued to the ground. Pain. I need to feel pain. Someone needs to hit me. Someone always hit me whenever I spilled my emotions like this. All I see in their eyes is pity. I hate being pitied. Just because I'm a screwed up guy doesn't mean I deserve to be pitied.

Tears blur my vision but I make no attempt to wipe them away. Sergeant Parker stands and begins to walk over. For some reason, I can't tell if he is angry or sorry, maybe it's both. There is stand rooted in my position. I will not move. I need to feel the pain. He raises his hand and it suddenly seems to be coming directly to my face. All turns black.

I gasp for air, wrestling with the sheets to breathe. They've trapped me!

"Help!" I scream though I know no one will come to my rescue.

My screams quickly turn into pleading sobs: sobs for forgiveness, freedom, help, mercy. Either the lack of oxygen to my brain or my panic sends my vision blurring and a dark curtain to be slowly pulled over the world as gravity calls my body to the floor.

I open my eyes slowly just as a pale, purple light filters through my thin curtains. The world lies sideways and I do not like it. I struggle to push myself off the floor, wondering what had happened. The traumatizing nightmare comes flooding back to my memory. My breath catches in my throat just thinking about it.

' _It was just a nightmare, Sam. Just a nightmare.'_ I remind myself.

I force myself to take a deep breath as I check the time: 0530 already. Crap. Oh well. I hurry to the station. The bald man with slightly pointed features 'greets' me with "Braddock, you're late." I simply nod my head and state, "My apologies, sir. It won't happen again."

The briefing is alright. Thank God Sergeant Parker doesn't make me say anything about myself. I don't know if I could keep it together without blubbering out my entire, ugly life story. I need this job and I need to not say anything stupid if I want to keep it. The day continues on fairly simply, they show me the ropes about the gun cage, shooting range, run a few tactical drills and we go out on patrol for a little while. The bald man that 'greeted' me this morning drives us around. I discover his name is Ed and doesn't talk a whole lot either.

"You grow up around here?" He asks after silence reigns the ride for the first twenty minutes.

"Hmn? Oh, no sir. I grew up in Ottawa, and Israel." I state with a small smirk thinking about how many weeks The General and I spent in Israel at a time having peace talks with Iran, Iraq and other nations we were on the brink of war with or already in war.

"Figures you'd live on the base; you're an Army brat." He scoffs to himself but loud enough for me to hear.

My head snaps to stare at him in disbelief as a breath is forced out of my lungs involuntarily, almost as if he had physically hit me. He turns to look at me and I quickly face the front again, tears prick the backs of my eyes.

So that's what I am here: an Army brat. So much for Sergeant Parker's big speech this morning about how everyone was going to make me feel like part of the team. In my peripheral vision, I can see Ed mentally kicking himself. Guess he wasn't supposed to let that slip out.

"Look, I'm sorry-" He starts.

"It's fine, sir. I'm glad I finally know my place here: the unwanted, disliked, cocky Army brat." I interrupt coldly.

"Sam." Ed states in warning tone.

"My apologies sir. I was way out of line." I hang my head in shame.

The rest of the ride is silent and tense. We return to the station, unload, shower and change. No one talks to me and its obviously not my place to speak. I'm standing in front of my locker, mostly just staring into space when someone touches my shoulder. I gasp. What the hell?! My arms flail as I spin around, flinging myself full force on my attacker.

 **Wordy**

I walk up to Sam as he's staring into space a little bit. I can tell he's had a pretty rough day. We all cringed when we heard Ed call him an Army brat. I gently touch his shoulder, wanting to offer some advice and encouragement when all of a sudden he whips around, quickly pinning me to the lockers on the opposite side of the wall, his arm pressed extremely hard against my throat. His eyes are wild and panicked.

"Sam, Sam!" I choke, knowing I'll be losing consciousness very soon if someone doesn't get him off me or he realizes I'm not a threat. "It's okay, buddy. It's Wordy. Your teammate." I gasp.

His eyes soften suddenly and blink rapidly. He stares at me for a split second before releasing his grip. I sink to the floor coughing and gasping for air.

"I – I'm so sorry." He stammers, kneeling in front of the wall opposite to me, running his hands over his sweaty face.

His face is pale and I can see him shaking.

"It's alright, Sam." I breathe. "I should've known better – than to touch an ex-soldier without warning. My fault buddy."

Sam is quivering and unresponsive to my words. His chest is heaving more than mine had been. I can tell what is happening to him. He's starting to have a panic attack and he's afraid of being hurt. Someone has hit him, repeatedly, for his mistakes and he's unsure of who is going to take the first swing at him. I hate domestic violence with a passion, especially child abuse.

"Sam, it's alright, buddy. Can you look at me?" No response. "Sam? Can you see how many fingers I'm holding up?" Silence. "Buddy? I'm going to touch your arm, okay?"

The young man instantly pulls away from the touch, his body shaking. He gasps, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. I hear familiar voices in the hallway.

"Boss, can you come in here for a sec?" I call calmly.

"What's up?" He asks upon entering, not yet seeing our ill teammate. "What happened." He demands.

"I accidently spooked Sam and he's been unresponsive to my questions, breathing's laboured too. I think he's having a panic attack of sorts."

Greg nods. "Sam? Hey Sam, buddy?" He states loudly, tapping Sam on the cheek. He pulls the rookie's eyelids up, shinning his phone's flashlight into his eyes. No contraction of his pupils. Just as he turns the light off, Sam's eyes roll backwards in his head. His body falls forwards limply. My arms rush to catch our fallen teammate before he hits the floor.

Boss calls for Eddie and EMTs as I cradle Sam in my arms, stroking his hair and keeping an eye on his racing pulse.

 **Sam**

Too much. Too many people. Too many memories. Can't handle it. Need to sleep. Need to block everything out. _Need to sleep!_ My body screams at me. The world is fading quickly, forcing me into sleep. People. More people. Why all the people?! Too many feelings, too many conflicting emotions. My world suddenly fades rapidly, my vision gone. My body turns numb and cold, ice forms in my veins. I'm too cold, too far gone. I cannot handle it anymore! Someone needs to save me! Please! Someone save me!

 _ **A/N:**_ _Please review! Let me know what you'd like to see in the next chapter! Ideas are great and you_ _will_ _receive mention/credit if I use your idea_ _Thank you!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

 **Wordy**

I wish so desperately that I hadn't spooked the kid. We sit in a small family waiting room for the doctor to emerge. Gosh, I hope Sam's gonna be okay. Ed is sitting in the corner, stewing over his poor choice of words. No one really knows what to say, we hardly know Sam and it's not like anyone really wanted the ex-soldier to be on the team in the first place. Boss has stepped out to give Sam's dad and Commander Holleran a call.

"The General sends his apologies to Sam for being unable to return to the country tonight but will be flying back in as soon as he can: hopefully he'll be here by tomorrow night." Greg relays to us.

"His father is General Braddock?! Like _the General Braddock_? The General Braddock of the Army?" I ask in shock.

Boss nods.

"Oh crap." I throw my head into my hands. "What have I done?" I ask quietly.

"Wordy," Boss starts, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. "It was an accident that you spooked him and you had nothing to do with the fact he had a panic attack."

"Yeah, maybe. But what if The General doesn't see it like that?" I counter.

"Well, he has to."

"Family of Mr. Sam Braddock?" A doctor states. We all stand. "You're all family?" he asks a bit shocked.

"We're his team. His family has been contacted but they cannot come at this time." Greg states.

"I see. Well, Mr. Braddock is stable at this time. With his high blood pressure, shallow breaths, racing pulse, unresponsiveness before he lost consciousness as well as his past medical records, I would most certainly say he suffered an anxiety attack. We see it quite often with ex-military as well as people who are currently going through a change or hard adjust in their life." The doctor informs.

"It was his first day at work today, all of the new procedures and protocols could have been stressing him out. We were kinda hard on him." I mention, remember how Ed yelled at him every time he answered a question wrong and cursed at him more than once.

"Can we see him?" Sarge asks.

The doctor nods. "He is heavily sedated at the moment. He nearly busted the door down when he first woke up and almost gave the nurse in the room with him a heart attack." He chuckles a bit remembering the scene. His poor patient had be so very confused and panicked when he woke.

Our eyes widen. Yikes!

"Only two at a time though and when he starts coming around, I'd definitely think about stepping outside." The doctor advises.

We head to our teammate's room. Boss and I enter first.

"He looks so young." I breathe.

"He is only twenty-six."

"Twenty-six?! I thought he was just a few years shy of thirty!"

Our conversation stops right about there as I sit down heavily on one of the hospital chair, picking Sam's limp hand up.

"I'm sorry, buddy. I'm so sorry." I whisper, tears stinging the backs of my eyes.

"It wasn't your fault, Kevin."

"I feel so responsible for it though. The kid had a rough enough day as it was. I just made it ten times worse." I mutter.

He guides me out of the room so the others can take their turns. One by one they leave the hospital. When Jules and Lou say they're going to leave and Spike jumps up to follow them out, I kind of lose it.

"How could you guys do that?!" I ask in livid horror. "He's our _teammate_ and he's in the hospital! You just want to leave after the first two hours?! He's going to be in here all night and he's not going to know where he is when he wakes up and you guys are just going abandon him like that? What sort of teammates are you?!" I nearly shout.

Spike drops his head in shame, shuffling his feet as Lou has about the same reaction. Jules stands calmly and looks me in the eye.

"It's not like we really know him and he certainly doesn't know us. Just like you said, Wordy, he's going to be here all night, sedated. He won't know the difference. He'll probably be a spazzed out mess when he wakes up anyway. Who wants to stick around for that? I sure don't." She states with a disgusted look on her face at the mere mention of our new teammate.

I would have lunged at her if Boss hadn't looked at me and shook his head.

"You're despicable. All of you." I spin on my heels and head back to Sam's room.

By the end of the night, it's just Sarge and me. Both of us are sleeping on a four hour rotation. I wake by four am and check on Sam. An hour later, I hear a raucous in the hallway. I pop my out the door to find a tall version of Sam in Army fatigues in the hall appearing very distraught and confused.

"Why can't I see my son?" He asks loudly.

"Well, you can sir, it's just that his teammates are-"

The older General pushes his way through the fleet of doctors and nurses to Sam's room. His blue eyes reflect deep concern.

"General Braddock, sir? I'm Constable Kevin Wordsworth, Sam's teammate. They gave him a heavy sedative yesterday that he's still sleeping off, apparently he put up quite a fight." I inform the General.

Sam's father chuckles. "Yes, I bet he did. May I see him? Privately?"

"Oh, absolutely, let me just wake my sergeant." I scoot into the room to wake Sarge.

We both exit and sit in some chairs outside of Sam's room. The General nods to both of us very politely before entering to see his son.

 **General Braddock**

Oh my poor baby. I stroke Sammy's hair and plant a gentle kiss on forehead. A nasal cannula has been inserted into his nose and an IV of fluid and medication is dripping into his hand. I pull a chair next to his bed.

"Everything's going to be okay, Sammy. I'm here now, it's okay." I murmur to him as his eyelids begin to twitch.

I step into the hall. "He's waking." His new Sergeant and his teammate re-enter with me.

My hand wraps around my son's, gripping it tightly as Sam wakes. He is instantly dripping with sweat and gasping for air. Monitors blare their loud alarms as doctors rush in, quickly injecting a medication into his bicep and his IV. Sam's blood pressure returns to normal in a few minutes and he breathes deeply through his oxygen mask. His eyes grow bleary with sleep as the sedative begins to take hold of his body.

"Dad." He slurs, blinking heavily through the fog that envelopes his mind.

"It's okay, Sammy. I'm right here, sweetie. Everything's going to be okay now. You can sleep now, baby." I soothe, stroking my son's forehead until his eyes close.

I let a long sigh escape me. My poor son, he gets so anxious sometimes. I kiss Sammy's forehead again and I sit back rubbing my hands over my face. It has been an excruciatingly long day and the jet lag is not helping.

 **Greg**

We all relax a bit when Sam falls back asleep after his latest anxiety attack. I turn to his father, who slouches in the chair.

"General Braddock, how 'bout you get a hotel room or change into something a little more – comfortable."

He looks at me in horror before looking down at his dirty fatigues.

"Honestly, I don't have another pair of clothes. I hopped on the very next flight after you had called me Sergeant Parker." He states.

I guess my face reflects the shock I'm feeling. It has been a good twelve hours.

"I flew in from Azerbaijan. I'm in the middle of a tour." He admits softly.

"But you're _The General. Why do you still have to go on tour?" I ask confusedly._

He smiles shyly, appearing almost child-like. "I don't. I like doing them. Sure, being the General is nice but I really love being soldier: getting dirty, training and hanging out with other soldiers, carrying out a simple task where most everything makes sense. They are either an enemy or they're not. Sometimes I just need to get away from all the meetings, formalities, the tedious paper work and stupid quarrels between politicians that I'm supposed to settle. Most of the time I just want to go to the shooting range with my son and blow some clay pigeons away."

I have to chuckle softly.

"Wait. Hold up!" Wordy interrupts, a strange force in his voice. "You spend time with Sam? Have you abused him because your son is scared to death of making a mistake and being hit!" He growls.

General Braddock's head whips around to stare at Wordy in shock and shame.

"No. That was my wife. She was awful to Sam was he was younger. Despite the years she has been out of his life, I have been unable to reverse the ingrained fear she instilled in him as a child. It's awful, I know, how scared he gets sometimes. I divorced her as soon as I discovered what she was doing when I out of the country for meetings." He murmurs, tears noticeably welling in his eyes.

He quickly brushes the tears from his eyes before they spill over.

Wordy appears just as shocked as we had been at his accusation.

"I'm so sorry." Kevin apologizes. "I had no idea."

"'S-okay. It's confusing and it doesn't make any sense that I would seemingly neglect my son to be abused but I truly had no idea until I came home early one time and found – found Sammy bloodied and bruised, tied up in the basement. God, it was awful. I spent a week in the hospital with him and I took him to all my meeting until she moved out. Sadly, our daughter decided to move out with her. It may have been for the best though. I know I couldn't have taken care of two children by myself with the kind of schedule I have. Sam started having these anxiety attacks in junior high. I thought they were just hormones and adjustments at first, but on his first day of senior high, he had to be hospitalized. The attack had caused him to collapse and stop breathing. We took things real slow from there on out. Normally his medication works just fine, I guess this is a whole lot more stress than the usual day to day stuff. He just moved into a new apartment the same night he flew back here from Ottawa which was two days ago, I believe. Anyway, he just gets like this sometimes and it really helps if he has a true friend that's willing to look out for him for a while. He's a good kid, he really is."

To our surprise, as The General is saying those last words, Sam begins to wake. He tightly clutches his father's comforting hand, mumbling something incoherent to Wordy and me. I motion to Kevin for us to give the father and son some privacy. Once in the hall, we both sigh in relief.

 ** _A/N:_** _Thanks so much for reading!_


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